Musical Notes
by perfectsmuttyvampire
Summary: Two people find themselves the sole survivors in London after World War Three. Their friends and family are in Scotland. With no transport, they walk across England - towards people that may or may not be alive to greet them…
1. Prologue

**_TITLE: Musical Notes_**

**_SUMMARY: Two people find themselves the sole survivors in London after World War Three. Their friends and family are in Scotland. With no transport, they walk across England - towards a family that may or may not be alive to greet them…_**

**_PAIRING: Hermione/Draco_**

**_WARNING: Death, violence, prophetic, smut, language. Nice and dramatic._**

**_CHANGES: All human, AU_**

**_A/N: Can't remember what exactly inspired this one. Just thought about it, and thought, hmmm, why not? So, WW3 has just taken place, with the nuclear bombs and so on, and Hermione and Draco must get back to Scotland, to find the ones they love, sheltering at Hogwarts._**

**_This chapter is Hermione's diary, written after they've arrived in Scotland. The rest of the chapters, will tell their story._**

_Dear Diary,_

_We crossed the border today. The further north we go, the worse the damage seems to be. Already I doubt that we will find the others alive. It no longer seems impossible that Draco and I are the only ones left - not just in Britain, but in the world. Draco keeps telling me not to give up hope - but I think I already have. Already I'm questioning why we are still walking. I am almost sure we will find nothing but a ruin. What happens then? It's a chilling thought to think that this, in fire and radiation, this is how the whole world ends. This is how everything grinds to a halt. Humanity destroyed itself. _

_I am writing this so if anyone or anything - whatever evolves when the whole of humanity is dead and gone - if it is ever found, it can be a lesson. It can be a lesson to whatever inhabits the earth when we are gone. I'm sure they'll do a better job of it than we ever did. So I am going to tell my story. And I'll tell Draco's too. How we found ourselves walking from London to the Hebrides, to find the ones we love - when we weren't even sure if they were still alive. We still aren't - yet when the sun rises over the wastes that was once the Scotland-England border, we will walk on. Because they may be. They might be waiting for us. If they aren't, we need to find a way to contact America, Europe and The Far East. We need to find any survivors. We need to know if we are all that's left. If we are, then we'll have to either live our lives until we die - or carry on the human race. Neither option appeals much. Why would I bring kids into this stinking world? When we destroyed it, why would I help it continue? I'm not even sure if I'm even able to have kids anymore. Can Draco? I watch him staring at the fire he started for us. It won't tell him anything._

_I walked from London. We have seen the major cities burn. I have seen no survivors, although we searched. We left the frequency we had on the walkie talkie I carry strapped to my bag in every city, every shop we passed, we left the frequency. But the radio remains silent. When we got to Manchester, there was nothing left. The fires still burnt more than a week after the bombs stopped falling. Still. We saw the bodies - some of them. What was left of them. Liverpool was no longer burning, but was virtually destroyed. Parts of York still stood - the Gates of the Old City swung in the breeze - the wall around them no longer existed. Nearly three thousand years of history was destroyed in seconds. We have seen no other traces of humanity. No life. We didn't have time to search thoroughly. We shouted, left messages, and we saw the bodies everywhere we went. We can't even steal a car. The roads were jammed with cars - people trying to flee to the countryside, thinking they'd be safer there. Parts of Hadrian's Wall still stand - and we make camp tonight nearby. There has been no contact from America, or Europe. The whole world seems to be dead. We try to reach the USA every time we go through a city with a TV shop - sending a video recording, via the satellites. But no reply ever comes, and we move on, one more shred of hope left behind. Every radio frequency we can get is used to transmit a message, waiting for the crackling static to stop, for a voice to come through from somewhere, anywhere. But the static doesn't stop, and neither do we. _

_We keep walking. But my story must be told - and I will tell it now. When the whole of humanity burns to nothing, what hope do we have of survival? But I will have my story down on paper, so if the human race does, by some miracle, survive this, then they will know how humans almost killed the entire world. _


	2. First Thing's First

**_This chapter is starting to tell the story. So, we start in London - after the War is over, and the bombs have stopped falling._**

**_First Thing's First_**

HPOV

I walk slowly through the streets, looking at smoking piles of rubble that were once buildings, that were once offices. I reach the river. The Thames still flows, I notice. Not even nuclear war can stop that. Christ. How did it come to this - me looking across the River Thames at a half-standing, half-ruined building. It takes me quite some time to realise I'm looking at the Houses Of Parliament. I know why I didn't recognize it - the clock tower of Big Ben is gone. Jesus. My grip on the rail tightens. I run towards Westminster Bridge. I must find survivors. I halt right at the end.

"Is anybody alive?" I shout as loudly as I can. "Can anybody hear me?" Westminster Bridge is still standing. I don't know how steady it is. But I have to try. If I'm going to find survivors, I need to be on the other side of the river. Trafalgar Square, Parliament, Charing Cross, Embankment, The Strand. There must be somebody alive out there. I cannot be the only survivor. I resist the temptation to run across the bridge. I take it slowly. It creaks alarmingly in the wind. I bolt for it. I land up only minutes from the Houses. Alive. The bridge is still up, but I think if we have a storm soon, it'll go down like a house of cards. The once elegant buildings are nothing more than rubble. I survey the damage. If there is anybody alive in that lot, there's no way I'll be able to free them. I try shouting again. "Hello! Is anybody alive? Can anybody hear me?" There's silence. I turn away. I start moving towards Trafalgar Square. I wish, suddenly, that I could change out of these clothes. A military style, for when I was fighting for the Resistance - the ones who shouted against the war - and the ones who killed the people who were big players in the War. But I can't not now. I have to focus on searching for survivors. Any survivors. "Is anybody alive?" I scream. "Can anyone hear my voice? Anybody!?" I reach the Square. It's devastation. The four columns are empty. The Lions are gone. The National Gallery is on fire, a huge blaze, out of control flames. "Oh my God," I whisper. "How many?" I sit down on what left of one of the two fountain ponds. I watch the flames roar.

I wake up with the sun on my face. It's cold. I sit up, stretching. I spent the night here. The Gallery is still burning. I roll over, awkwardly. My neck hurts. I am starving. I need to find food, and soon. A change of clothes. And then I have to start walking. Every other Resistance fighter I knew was based in Scotland. I can't get to them now - they aren't responding on the radios. But I'm going to go to Scotland, too see if there is anyone left alive. Harry, Ron, Ginny, Fred and George, Bill, Charlie, all the Weasleys, Seamus , Dean - everybody I've ever known and loved. All dead? Maybe. But if I survived it, perhaps they can. Perhaps they too, survive. I think about the only other Resistance soldier they sent to London. Draco. A friend. Where is he, I wonder? Last I heard from him, he was near Canary Wharf, helping evacuate people. God only knows if he's still alive. I can't reach him - but I don't even know if he had a radio. Mobile phones aren't working. My brain won't stop. It lists all the people I've ever known. How many dead? I shout again.

"Is anybody alive? Can anybody hear my voice? Anybody?!" I don't even expect a response anymore. I'll be lucky to ever see anyone again. But the thought of the lonely walk, all those hundreds of miles to Scotland alone, when God only knows what is on the streets now - I shake. But I can't give in now. If I reach Scotland, and there are people alive - then I can go into shock or whatever.

I can't sit here any longer. Nobody is coming. London is dead. And then somebody asks me who I am, and I spin round to come face to face with none other than Draco himself.

DPOVI can see a big column of smoke coming from Trafalgar Square. The Gallery must be burning. I almost turn away. Nobody could have survived that. I turn away. How many dead? I've been walking for days, walking towards the city, looking for any survivors. Looking for hope. I haven't found it yet. I sit down in a doorway. Pizza Hut. Jesus. Look at me, sitting here. I look up at what is left of Charing Cross station. Rubble blocks the doors. Poor souls. And then I hear something. It's faint. Am I imagining it? A girls voice.

"Is anybody alive?" It's coming from the square. I get up. "Can anyone hear my voice?" I run. I run, hope giving my feet wings, even though I haven't eaten properly for days. If there is somebody else alive, then there could be more. I round into the Square and skid to a halt. A young woman with golden-brown curls escaping a neat bun is sitting on what is left of one of the fountain ponds. She is gazing up at the National Gallery. There is a rucksack at her feet. Something about the way she sits, upright, but with her shoulders dropped and slightly forward is familiar. I walk towards her. She's got her back to me. I'm carrying the gun the Resistance gave me. I don't have any immediate plans to use it on her. She gets up before I reach her, picking up the rucksack. She's in uniform - our uniform. It suits her.

"Who are you?" I ask, and she whips round. I nearly fall over in shock. Her cinnamon eyes widen and her mouth drops open. She recovers first.

"Draco?" she gasps.

"Hermione! I thought - you were on the other side of the River. How?"

"I don't know. I woke up three days ago in what was left of City Hall. I followed the River. I went up towards Westminster."

"It's taken you three days -"

"No, you dick," she snaps. "I was looking everywhere I could for survivors. Nothing. Nobody. I thought I was the only one left. I haven't eaten for two days. I managed to find a sandwich place. But there's nobody left, Draco. The radio's totally silent. I've been on every single frigging frequency. I've sent out messages on every frequency. America isn't responding. I tried tapping into the networks -"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. You have the access codes?"

"Nope, but I did have the codes for Headquarters. Don't ask me how. That's partly why I've been so long. I searched his office. Got the codes for the network. But there's no response on the frequencies. Not from America, not from Europe. I tried Ireland, Canada, Norway - Christ, I even tried Russia. Nothing. Not a word. The entire world seems to be dead. Nothing but silence. The thing runs on batteries - I'm going to need to break into a shop and get some more."

"What's the damage like? How did you get over the River?"

"Westminster Bridge was still up - just. Half of London's burning. The other half is rubble. Parliament is a wreck. Tower Bridge - gone. Like it was never there. London Bridge - also gone. I was beginning to think I'd have to swim. City Hall, London Eye - everything's gone, Draco. Everything. What about over here? Damage?"

"Just a bit. The Strand is a wreck. Embankment is all but destroyed. The Tower of London's gone. I saw the bridge. I went down to Charing Cross - totally destroyed. I was in Canary Wharf. Its gone. Everything. It's been totally flattened."

We sit by the fountain, talking.

"You said you were in City Hall - that meant you had contact with Europe, the other fighters, surely some must be alive."

"Paris is silent, so's the Alhambra. Europe went silent the day before London was hit. The last person I spoke to was in Oslo - and that was more than five hours before we were hit. The last person anybody spoke to was somewhere in Sweden - we never found out where. I heard the bombs fall on Spain, I heard the people screaming as they died. I heard them screaming for help - help that everybody knew wasn't coming. Russia - well, nobody has heard anything from Russia for weeks." She pauses, but she doesn't lose control. I used to fantasize about making her lose the calm, collected façade she was always so careful about keeping up. But now I admire her for it. The ultimate soldier. Always, always a soldier, first and foremost. She was bloody scary when she got her hands on anyone who played a major role in the bombs. She wasn't interested in the foot-soldiers, those who did what they did because they followed orders. She was interested in the big fish. "America is silent. But I need to get to Scotland."

"You mean you need to get to Hogwarts," I say, naming the base out of which the Resistance was run.

"Yes, whatever. I need to get there. I have the access codes, they have the equipment. When we combine the two, we can transmit a message globally, on every frequency all at the same time. We can send out a signal strong enough to break through the blocks, to make sure every frequency on the globe hears my voice, calling out for survivors."

"And if we're the only ones that are still alive?"

"Then we cross that bridge when we get to it." She leaves the possibility that if we are the only ones left, then we will be the ones who have to make a decision about whether or not to carry on the human race. "But, first thing is first. We need food - when was the last time you had anything to eat?"

"Three days ago."

"Then we find a place to eat - we're in London, for goodness sake, there are plenty of café's and restaurants and so on around. And supermarkets. We'll have to find a campin store or something - better rucksacks. We'll need to plan for the journey, supplies, clothes, boots. And we might find a map useful."

"Don't need a map - I've got the tracking device."

"Does it still work?"

"Yep - here." I hold it out. "At the moment it only registers me. We can assimilate you, but it might take -"

"You'll be enough. We're going to stay together - yes?"

"Yes."

"Then we don't need to waste time we don't have putting me into a tracking device. Food first. We'll worry about rucksacks and supplies after we've had a decent meal."

The flames of the National Gallery as it burns highlight the colours in her hair. Her face is set. I don't even want to think about how many people she has seen dead. I don't want to imagine what she's seen and done in the last few days. It's what I have seen - and nobody wants to talk about that. Nobody wants to talk about seeing hundreds of dead bodies, piled ten deep on the pavements by what was once one of the worlds most famous industrial centre. Nobody wants to talk about seeing the mangled, broken bodies of children, who died in the arms of their mothers. Nobody wants to talk about what it was like to see Canary Wharf burning, people jumping from the tower blocks to escape the flames when the bombs fell. Nobody wants to talk about what it was like to see a ten year old girl vaporized whilst she screamed for her mother. I don't want Hermione to ever have to see that happen, and I know she will have seen similar or worse. But because she is a soldier, she will never agree to cry in front of me. My heart literally aches as I see her start walking. But I get up and join her. And although she doesn't say it, the brief squeeze she gives my hand shows me all the emotion I'm going to get. I know she is grateful that I am still with her.

We walk away, knowing that people have died in the building that burns behind us.


	3. Start To Walk

**_Start To Walk_**

DPOV

We get food in a sandwich shop. She nips off to the loos, and I look around, finishing off my sandwich. It's almost normal. Sitting in a sandwich shop, eating ham sandwiches together, drinking mineral water. She comes back.

"There's no water. I suggest we add deodorant to the shopping list. Or get bottled water, lots of it, and at least try and wash. We need to leave today - make the most of the daylight. There's no electricity - so when it gets dark, it'll be really dark." She stares out at the street. "How did this happen, Dray?" she asks me softly. I start. I haven't heard her call me Dray for years - not since we were children. "How did we come to this?"

"I don't know, Mione," I say, softly. Cracks in the perfect façade are showing. I don't reach out and take her hand - I know she wouldn't have that. But I pat her arm. "I don't know." She smiles at me.

"You haven't called me Mione for years. It's - it's good to hear it again." She stares at her empty water bottle. "Lets go shopping, Dray."

We meet outside later. She's changed into thick jeans and a sweater. She's still carrying her old rucksack, but she's torn off the insignia of the Resistance. It's clearly been repacked. I'm carrying a new one, with spare clothes, bottled water, and food.

"I found a camping store," she says, putting her bag down and opening it to show me. "I got a cooking stove and bottles of meths from a supermarket. I've got ration packs - there was an army surplus store. And about three litres of water. And spare clothes. And a torch. Thought we might need a torch. And I also got loo roll." She holds out a plastic bag. "I'm all out of room - that rucksack is huge, are you good to carry all that?"

"I'll be -"

"We'll take it in turns to carry the big rucksack," she continues. "And don't even think about arguing with me." I close my mouth again. "Put the loo roll in. And I managed to get this," she says, holding out a watch. "Which works. Well, it works now. I also got about a tonne of batteries. We can stock up when we reach the next town. I reckon it'll take us two days to get out of London. I don't know how many roads are actually passable now."

"I got an A-Z. A road map. We can get more detailed ones of whatever city we pass through."

"We need to plan our route. We must go through the cities - we need to find out if there are

any survivors."

We start to walk. She looks at cars abandoned in the road. She frowns.

"What's up?" I ask her quietly. I don't even expect an answer. Hermione Granger has built up such a careful mask for herself, I barely know the girl I grew up with. She does not ever, ever tell me what is wrong.

"I'd hot wire a car - but there's no damn point. We wouldn't get anywhere."

We talk that night. We sleep in what is left of St Paul's Cathedral. She talks to me as we lie there, waiting for sleep to come to a building that has tombs around the walls.

"This building survived the Blitz. Now look at it." She gazes up. "I used to pray here, when I was a little girl. I stopped praying when the War started. Didn't see the point. I questioned everything that was happening around me. I questioned everything I believed in. It's hard to have faith when babies die in your arms because of what humanity has done." She's silent for so long I think she's fallen asleep. "What will happen if we are the only ones left?"

"Err -"

"Exactly."

"Lets cross that bridge when we get there."

"Yes, lets."

"I mean it's not like sleeping with you would be bad."

"Oh, no, I didn't mean -"

"But you know - the human race -"

"God, this is awkward," she mumbles.

"Yeah." There's another long pause.

"Dray?"

"Hmm?"

"I'm glad you're with me."

"I'm glad you're here."

"Night, then."

"Night."

She tips me out of my sleeping bag at first light.

"I don't want to be rude," she begins. She's going to be rude. "But you stink. Take a bottle of water and go wash." I jump up. "Where are your clothes?"

"In my rucksack. I am not sleeping in jeans." She smiles slightly, turning away to hid it. She all ready to leave, the sleeping bags put away, and she's holding out a sandwich.

"One chicken salad sandwich, courtesy of the Bakers Oven."

We make it to the country side two days later. She sets a punishing pace.

"Dray, where exactly are we?" I notice wryly that she hasn't called me Draco since we found each other. I look at the tracker. She put up with the A-Z for a day. Then, as half the landmarks were gone, she pointed out that we could be bloody anywhere.

"Hemel Hempstead."

"Really? We got here quicker than I thought." She puts her rucksack down. The city is rubble, razed to the ground. Aspects remain - but it is virtually gone. "How could this happen?"

We eat on the outskirts of the city. It's a silent meal, eating ration packs out of the bag.

"Do you think we've got any chance of finding an accessible shop to get more water and such like?"

"Doesn't look like it from here. But," I reply, pulling the tracker back out and staring at it. "According to this, there should be a supermarket exactly a mile in that direction. We have to at least try."

We reach the motorway just before dark. We managed to stock up. We head north, knowing that now we're truly headed towards an abyss. I look at Hermione askance as we set up camp for that night. She's still going. Still so strong. But I'm bloody terrified. I know her better than anyone. If we reach Headquarters, and there's nobody alive, if we can't reach anyone, I know that she'll break up. I know that she'll be destroyed inside. I don't even know what drives her on now. I don't know what stops me from sitting down and giving up. But I'll keep going, and so will she. If it is the last thing we ever do, we will make it to Scotland. We will put the word out that there are survivors. And after that, when we've done our duty, then she can go into shock or whatever. Then she can break down. But not until we know for certain one way or another. Not until then.

The world has exploded around us. I haven't seen another living thing for days. And I'm still going, still optimistic. Is it wrong to hope that humanity has survived? What is there to live for? The world has died.

And I find myself praying for death.


End file.
